


Warrior Braids P1 & 2

by Minniemoggie



Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies), Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-11-06 13:14:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minniemoggie/pseuds/Minniemoggie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just how and where was Legolas gifted with his warrior braids and what is the story behind his need to always keep his hair braided</p>
            </blockquote>





	Warrior Braids P1 & 2

Title: Warrior Braids 1 & 2  
Author: Minnie  
  


The woods of Lothlorien were working their usual spell, the elven prince decided.

A feeling of serenity had enfolded the sundered Fellowship. With it had come a renewal of hope.

 

Within the protected borders time moved more slowly and although Legolas knew that in reality they had been here some weeks it seemed to the mortal members of the fellowship as if they had been welcomed by Celeborn and Galadriel scarce days ago.

It mattered little for their need for healing had been great; the loss of Gandalf had hit them all hard.

The Hobbits were the worst affected, less accustomed than their warrior escort to death or loss in battle the Halflings had found it difficult to come to terms with the death of the Istari.

 

Legolas’ own grief had been tempered by the joy of being once more in the Golden Wood and with his own kin.

 

Now all of the members of the Fellowship were showing signs of recovery.

Aragorn and Boromir were sparring with one another at the practice grounds under the expert tuition of Celeborn himself.

Gimli, had accompanied him to the bathing pools, a small grin broke through the calm countenance as a loud snore indicated where the dwarf now lay.

The heat of the afternoon had encouraged his companion to nod off leaving the elf to enjoy his swim alone.

 

He had left the Hobbits discussing their favourite topic of conversation, food and how to get more of it.

Now he heard their chatter and laughter as they made their way across the glade to the kitchens where no doubt the elven cooks would vie with each other to produce the most delicious of tit-bits to tempt the appetites of their guests.

 

Legolas tipped his head to the side, and listened and knew instantly that only three of the Halflings were going to forage for a snack, Pippin was not amongst them.

His smooth brow, creased with concern, Peregrin Took the youngest amongst them had taken Gandalf’s death hardest of all; he blamed himself for waking the evil in the depths of the mines and setting into train the events that led to Gandalf’s sacrifice on the bridge at Khazad-dúm.

 

Everyone had done their best to assure him that his actions were not the catalyst for the loss but the young Hobbit would not be comforted. Pippin had taken to spending many hours alone, eschewing even the company of his cousins as he agonised over his part in the tragedy of Moria.

 

Strangely or perhaps not, given his own experience, Legolas decided, the Hobbit had turned to the Gimli more than any other for comfort.

 

Once again the elf’s eyes turned to his slumbering friend. Gimli Gloinson was at first sight a bluff no nonsense warrior. His gruff manner and hirsute countenance allied with the positive array of deadly weaponry and armour was enough to daunt even the strongest of spirits, yet beneath that doughty exterior Legolas knew was a heart that was big enough to encompass the whole of Arda. A spirit that was both generous and forgiving and a compassion and devotion to those he called friends that would see him lay down his life without hesitation in their cause.

The dwarf had just as he had with Legolas taken the young Hobbit into his care and keeping and offered his broad shoulder as a place to weep on and his sharp ears to listen with unfailing patience to Pippin’s lamentations while encouraging the Halfling to put aside his guilt and move on.

 

Climbing out onto a mossy bank the elf allowed the warmth of the sun to dry his body before slipping into clean leggings and a loose shirt. Letting his thoughts drift and his eyes become unfocused it was a little while before he realised someone was standing looking down at him.

“Is something amiss, Pippin?”

 

“How did you know it was me?” the Hobbit mumbled as he plopped down next to the elf.

 

“Since I know where everyone else of our Fellowship is it seemed logical that it would be you, if you are looking for Gimli he lays yonder. Ever on the alert against danger,” Legolas winked at the Hobbit who giggled as he heard the sonorous snores issuing from the dwarf.

 

“I was looking for Gimli but I do not wish to disturb his rest, may I sit with you instead?”

 

“Of course”

 

The pair sat in silence of a short period, and Legolas could see the Hobbit was struggling with his emotions once more.

 

Legolas had given much thought to Mithrandir’s fate over the last few weeks and now hoped that maybe his conclusions may offer some little solace to the Halfling. “Pippin do you recall meeting with Lord Glorfindel during your stay in Imladris?”

 

Pip, nodded, “he was the one who brought Frodo to safety across the ford and he was very kind to the three of us when we arrived with Strider. He is a great warrior isn’t he?”

 

“He is that.” Legolas acknowledged, “Do you also recall the stories Bilbo used to tell you of the Lords of Gondolin?”

 

This time there was a tremor in the quiet voice as the Hobbit answered yes. Legolas placed a comforting hand on the shaking shoulder, “Then you know Glorfindel of Gondolin fought the Balrog to allow his people time to escape.”

 

“Just like Gandalf, did for us, and they both died” The Hobbit whispered, and then made a real effort to carry on. “Was our Lord Glorfindel named after the lord of Gondolin?”

 

Legolas smiled to himself at the young ones courage and hoped what he was about to tell him might offer him some peace.

 

“He is not named after him, he is the same lord.” Seeing the confusion in Pippin’s face he explained further “When elves die they go to the Halls of waiting, and eventually they are released to live in Valinor, some however, those whose sacrifice was deemed very great are offered another choice. Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower was offered that other choice rather than live in eternal peace in Valinor with others of his kin he chose to come back to Middle Earth to give his support Lord Elrond after the death of Gil-Galad.”

 

The light of understanding appeared in the Hobbits eyes, “You think Gandalf might do the same?” now there was almost desperate expectation in Pippin’s voice.

 

“I do. Although Mithrandir, is not an elf, but a Maia, he is beloved of the Valar, I hope that his sacrifice for us will mean that he too is offered a chance to return to us, we may well see him again, Pip, if he is given that choice. I do not think that all hope is not lost.”

 

“Do you truly believe that?” Pippin demanded breathlessly

 

“I would not have told you of it if I did not,” and then the elf found himself with an armful of weeping Hobbit.

Horrified, by this reaction Legolas attempted reassurance, “I did not mean to distress you … Please Pippin say I have not added to your woes?”

 

Then as the Halfling lifted his head he breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the smile on Pippin’s face.

 

“Oh Legolas, thank you. You have given me something to hold onto, some reason to be hopeful, thank you indeed.”

There were more tears but this time Legolas knew they were tears of relief and when the storm had passed and Pippin pulled away from his arms to wipe his eyes the elf busied himself by locating his brush and comb and turning his attention to his hair.

 

It was while he was combing out the tangles prior to rebraiding it that he realised that Pippin was now watching him apparently fascinated.

 

Caught staring at the elf Pip blushed but then blurted out, “Why do you not leave it loose as Lord Celeborn does?”

 

Legolas chuckled and mimed the firing of a bow, “if I did that it is likely that my hair and the bowstring would become inexorably entangled and I would end up firing myself!”

 

The tweenager’s eyes widened as he visualised the effect then he grinned, “I suppose so. Is that why you wear plaits around your ears?”

 

The elf winced at the description, “We prefer to call them braids, but yes it is to stop my hair getting in the way while I am in battle.”

 

“And your big plait at the back, sorry” Pippin amended as the elf flinched “braid, what is that for?”

 

Legolas tied off his hair with a tiny silver clasp and seeing the Hobbit looking at him in anticipation of a further explanation, answered, “It is a symbol of my house, it tells someone that I am a son of Thranduil, and grandson of Oropher.”

 

Interpreting this cryptic statement correctly Pippin answered, “You mean it tells people you are a Prince?”

 

Once again Legolas winced, while Pip having learned early on in their quest that Legolas did not like to be reminded of this royal status, grinned.

The members of the Fellowship had become accustomed to seeing the ranger tease and torment his old friend over his title. Aragorn had a whole selection of descriptions for the scion of the house of Oropher, the most hated and therefore the most often used being ‘princeling’.

“I don’t know why you don’t like people calling you a prince. That is what you are after all.” He scolded sounding horribly like his erstwhile tutor to the scowling royal.

 

“You are the son of the Thain,” Legolas riposted “but you do not use that to curry favour with anyone”

 

The young Hobbit looked down at himself, “I don’t think it would do me much good looking like I do, not outside the Shire at least, but you look like a prince, you act like a prince, most of the time” he added mischievously.

 

There was a reluctant gleam in the elf’s eyes as he answered this assertion, “My Adar would not agree with you. Neither would Gimli, according to him I am something of a menace.”

 

Again the Hobbit chuckled, recalling some of the lectures he had listened into that the dwarf had gifted the elven prince with since he was appointed his keeper. Although none of the others mentioned it, for the dwarf was very discrete, they were all aware of the way, Gimli had chosen to rein in some of the young elf’s wilder activities.

Aragorn and Boromir had their own way of dealing with recalcitrant Halflings which made him vastly sympathetic with Legolas’ position when he was draped across the dwarf’s knees. “But a very princely menace,” Pippin assured him now, “especially with your braids. Do you wear them all the time?”

 

Legolas paused before answering. “On formal occasions I am supposed to braid my hair in a more ornate style but I always try to retain my warrior braids as well. I have only once gone more than a day without them and that was not my choice I can assure you.” Seeing the Hobbit about to ask whose choice it had been then, Legolas hastened to continue, he had no desire to tell that particular tale. “I am very proud of the fact that I am one of the youngest elves to ever be awarded the honour of wearing them.”

 

Sensing a mystery over the elf’s confession still Pip was also keen to find out how he came to be gifted with his braids, the other tale could wait, and he would wheedle it out of the elf eventually he decided. “Did you do something special to get them so young?”

 

Legolas grinned relieved at having headed off the inquisitive youngster, “As a matter of fact I did, although not everybody seemed to appreciate my actions initially.”

 

“Well tell me,” Pippin prompted when Legolas did not continue.

 

Giving a mock sigh of resignation the elf sat back and began his story.

 

“I was a novice in training and on an exercise with the instructors out in the forest when we were attacked by spiders. I was supposed to follow my guards and flee to safety but I saw my woodcraft instructor, Elian, was trapped between two of them and in danger of being stung, the venom of the giant spiders can be fatal.” He added grinning at the open mouthed Hobbit. “I knew that to bring a spider down you have to ensure the shot is properly placed, so I dropped to my knee as it reared up to strike and fired two arrows simultaneously into its carapace, killing it out right, my guards despatched the other and Elian was saved.

My instructors and guards were full of praise for my quick thinking and accurate marksmanship in the aftermath of the battle and I gloried in their approbation.

When we got home I was expecting to be feted and congratulated in a similar manner, what I got was a summons to my Adar’s presence, a lecture that singed my ears and a paddling that was intense enough to leave me kicking and bawling. By the time Ada had finished with me I felt more like an elfling than a budding warrior. Sore and miserable I asked to be excused from dinner but Adar insisted that I had to attend.

To my chagrin when I entered the great hall behind Adar I found all the captains of the elven brigades present. My first thought was that I was going to be punished again or made to apologise to them.

I was ordered to take up my place in front of the top table and I can tell you that my knees were knocking as Adar approached me and everyone else got to their feet. Imagine my surprise when Ada stepped behind me loosened my hair from the child’s top knot then began to weave twin braids over my ears. I could hardly breathe as I heard Ada announce I was being granted warrior braids for my bravery.” He chuckled ruefully at the memory, “I think I am the only elf in the history of our race who has been awarded warrior status while being unable to sit down because of a smarting backside for the same act.”

 

Legolas was rewarded for this tale by a trill of joyous laughter from the Hobbit at his side.

 

Pip sprang to his feet still laughing, “Legolas, may I go and tell the others what you have told me? About Gandalf I mean …” he added innocently.

 

Legolas attempted to glower threateningly, but could not help the answering smile that blossomed on his face, “I know very well what you mean, and if I hear one mention of how I got my warrior braids from you Peregrin Took I shall carry you up to the highest Mallorn tree and leave you there.”

 

Rather than answer the Hobbit leaned down tweaked the newly tidied braid and danced away still laughing.

The elf shook his head after him but the smile remained on his face, happy that his intervention had helped to restore Pippin to his more usual cheerful disposition.

 

“That was very nicely done laddie!”

 

Legolas swung round to see Gimli sitting watching him. “How long have you been awake?” he challenged.

 

“Long enough to hear you give the youngster some peace over Gandalf’s fall. Not to mention the exact circumstances of how you were awarded those braids of yours.”

 

Legolas rolled his eyes at his friend but smiled as he hauled the bulky dwarf to his feet.

 

“Shall we go and see if Lord Celeborn has managed to instil any battle sense into those two human companions of ours?” Gimli asked still chuckling

 

 “Or at least to prevent them hurting each other too badly” the elf retorted

 

“Aye there is that of course. On the way you can tell me what or who prevented you from wearing those braids you are so proud of, well come along lad,” he tugged the elf into movement, stoutly ignoring the scowl that marred the immortal’s fair face as he reluctantly trailed after him.

 

Oh yes Gimli thought taking in the ferocious frown Legolas was now sending his way, this was definitely a tale he would want to hear!

 

 

Title: Warrior Braids P2  
  


The concerned dwarf looked down at the unconscious being lying so still and pale in the bed.

That elf would be the death of him yet!

 

With Sauron defeated and the damage to the White City being repaired so that the wedding of the new king of Gondor might take place, the dwarf had thought he might be able to relax his vigilance a little over the mercurial and impulsive son of Thranduil. How wrong could one dwarf be?

If the flighty creature was not chasing down stray Orcs and Wargs he was to be found scrambling about in the ruins of the King’s garden trying to restore it to health and beauty before the wedding.

He was exhausting himself and of course would not be told, losing patience with his charge Gimli had bodily dragged the protesting princeling away from his work to accompany him on a walk through the streets of Minas Tirith while he inspected some of the worst damaged buildings down on the second tier of the city.

Legolas had moaned all the way down through the top three levels, he had only been silenced when the dwarf, tired of his complaining, had threatened to smack his bottom for him if he did not desist.

Despite his worries, Gimli smiled reminiscently at the outraged expression this warning had engendered and the neat side step the elf had then executed to ensure his posterior remained unpunished when Gimli had raised his hand.

 

“Gimli,” he had protested, when he was sure he was out of reach. “It is most unseemly to keep threatening me with such a childish punishment. I am after all a warrior not a wayward elfling.”

 

Gimli had snorted at this assertion and reeled off a few of the most recent escapades the elf had gotten involved in which gave the lie to that assertion. Faced with the evidence a blushing Legolas had fallen silent and made no more objections to accompanying his friend.

 

Having extracted a promise from the elf to behave circumspectly under pain of immediate chastisement should he fail to keep his pledge, Gimli had left him sitting on the outer wall watching the workmen on the circle above mending the defences while he inspected a nearby property.

Of course, he should have known better than to leave him unsupervised, the elfling was apparently inherently incapable of keeping out of trouble.

 

As soon as he heard the shouts and the rumbling of moving stonework and the air suddenly full of dust, Gimli had known whom he would find in the centre of the melee.

 

By the time, he made it back to the spot he had left his friend it was to see a section of the wall from above had fallen into the ruins of a nearby house. Next to this lay the unmoving body of the elf.

Horror, fear, and guilt warred within his breast as he raced forward, scattering the soldiery and citizens in his path.

 

“He is alive Lord Gimli,” one of the soldiers pronounced as he knelt at the elfling’s side. “He was struck by a piece of falling masonry.” The guard pointed at the gash in the elf’s forehead.

 

“Lord Aragorn?” Gimli demanded

 

“I have sent one of the sentries to apprise the king of what has happened we thought it best not to move Lord Legolas until he arrived.”

 

Gimli patted the guards shoulder, “thank you lad. Do you know what caused this?”

 

“Aye,” the guard nodded, “Lord Legolas was retrieving a child’s toy from the house behind us. The little girl and her grandmother had come to salvage what little they could from the ruins. The girl’s parents were killed in the siege and she was desperate to have the doll her father had carved for her last birthday. Lord Legolas spotted it and said he was sure he could reach it safely which he did. Unfortunately, as he was on his way out when some shale from the workings above fell on the remains of the roof and one of the crossbeams gave way. A piece of the stone struck him as he leapt out of the way.”

 

Only the fact that he was already unconscious stopped Gimli from attempting to knock some sense into the elf’s thick skull, right there and then. Putting himself at risk for a child’s toy was unforgivable. Unable to release his frustrations on the elflings hide Gimli growled to himself, while still tenderly holding the elf’s hand in one of his own.

“Ye foolish elfling, why I ought to …” His musings were interrupted by the sound of a child crying nearby and as Gimli glanced upwards he saw an elderly woman with a young girl clinging onto her skirts, her eyes fixed on the dusty doll half hidden by the elf’s body.

“Here child, take it.” Gimli held up the toy and the girl leapt forward and took it from him holding it close.

Gimli swallowed as he took in the condition of the pair, of course the elf would have seen as swiftly as he that the pair was all but destitute, and the softhearted elfling would not have thought twice about the danger he was placing himself in by entering a clearly unstable property.

 

He was about to speak to them to reassure them that the accident was not their fault when he heard a commotion that could only mean that Aragorn had arrived. “Over here laddie,” he called as the king, still dressed for Council, jumped down from his horse.

 

Ignoring the gaping crowd, Aragorn fell to his knees next to the dwarf and elf, his left hand automatically going to the pale forehead. Worried eyes, showed a glimmer of relief as he felt the strong beat of the elf’s heart beneath his right hand. Signalling for his guards to bring his mount forward he stood cradling the elf in his arms, “we can deal with him better back in the Citadel,” seeing the concern in the dwarf’s face he smiled, “he has a hard head, Gimli. I do not doubt but that he will recover soon enough. Come.”

 

Before accepting a ride back behind the captain of the guard Gimli turned again to the quick thinking soldier who had summoned the king so swiftly and offered him his thanks, then quietly crossed to the old woman fumbled for a pouch he kept in his belt and pressed it into her hand.

 

He had ignored Aragorn’s raised eyebrows at this of course and in the rush to get Legolas back to the Citadel and properly looked over his actions were forgotten much to his relief.

 

So now, here he sat waiting for the elf to regain consciousness. Aragorn had promised him that his charge would likely make a full recovery without any of the residual aches and pains that mortals who had suffered the bruising Legolas had would feel. Gimli sniffed; if the reckless elf did awaken in such a manner then he was going to make at least one part of that perfect anatomy smart. As soon as he knew, he was well that was of course!

 

There was a knock on the door and a curly head inserted itself with a quiet “how is he?”

 

Beckoning Pippin to come in Gimli mumbled, “Still unconscious, that is why his eyes are closed rather than just unfocused; Aragorn says he may not wake for some time yet.”

 

“Would you like some company?” the Hobbit inquired, and Gimli saw past the offer and recognised the pinched look the youngster had started to wear again lately as he fretted over the wellbeing of Sam and Frodo.

 

“Aye, lad,” Gimli moved over in the large chair he was seated in and Pippin needed no second invitation but swiftly joined him.

Snuggling into the dwarf’s side with a small sigh of pleasure, he allowed his head to rest on the dwarf’s broad shoulder. “Comfortable?” Gimli chuckled, and was rewarded with a sleepy nod in return

Almost without thought, the dwarf began to run his hand over the curls giving comfort and silent support to the youngest of their party just as he had done back in Lothlorien after the fall of Gandalf. He could read the Halflings thoughts as clearly as his own; Pippin feared Sam and Frodo would not recover from their ordeal in Mordor although Gandalf, Elrond, and Aragorn had all told him they would get better.

“Sometimes we have to place our faith in the hands of the healers, lad, Sam and Frodo are in the care of two of the greatest of them, and Lord Elrond knows more of the healing arts than anyone else in Arda and Aragorn was trained by his father. So when they tell us all will be well, even though we cannot see it with our own eyes we have to trust them to be telling us the truth. Elves do not lie you know they are incapable of it.” He glanced across at the bed, “although some try when they are in trouble…” this assertion made Pippin giggle but then he turned serious again.

“But Gimli, they are so quiet and still and the healers tell me I fidget them too much and ask too many questions and I feel as if I am in the way and of no use at all.”

 

“Then it is as well you are needed here to keep me company while I watch over this foolish elfling of mine.” A surprisingly gentle hand raised Pippin’s head so that he could see Gimli clearly. “Listen to me young Hobbit. Sam and Frodo have been grievously hurt and their healing will take some time yet. That does not mean they will not make a full recovery however give it time and do not despair. As soon as they are feeling a little stronger, they will welcome your cheerful presence, as will the healers. I predict in a week or two you will be complaining to me that they are running you off your feet with their demands so you had best get some rest while you can had you not”

 

There was a sniffle and Gimli felt a suspiciously wet spot growing on his shoulder but bore it all stoically and was rewarded after a short while by Pippin asking if he had heard any news from Rohan?

 

“I have that, laddie. Faramir says the party from Rohan should be here within a week. You will be as glad to have Merry back with you as Faramir will be to see his lady no doubt.”

 

“I have missed him,” Pip responded “but I enjoy spending time with you, Gimli. You always make time for me.”

 

“Aye well one pesky youngling more or less is no trouble to a dwarf,” he ruffled the curls to show he was joking, “and I enjoy our time together too, stops me brooding too much over this ones foolishness.” He hiked a thumb at the elvish prince.

 

Pip shook his head at the sight of the bandage around the elf’s forehead. His long golden hair had been drawn back from his face, his braids loosened so that the dried blood could be cleaned away. “Legolas will not like that” he pronounced, “You know how he feels about his warrior braids.”

 

They both exchanged smiles at that recalling when back in Lothlorien; Legolas had told the Hobbit how he had come to be awarded his braids so early in life.

 

“Did Legolas ever tell you how he came to loose his warrior braids that time?” Pippin now asked.

 

 “Nay he did not!” Gimli grumbled, “Though I asked him often enough. It must have been quite a tale he was so anxious to keep it quiet.”

 

“Oh it was” the Hobbit assured him

 

“He told you?”

 

Pippin shook his head, “No, but Gandalf did, when we were on the road to Minas Tirith together. I told him about how Legolas had given me back some hope that he, Gandalf would return and had made me laugh with the story of how he was awarded his warrior braids, but would not tell me how he came to lose them again and Gandalf said he was not surprised and proceeded to tell me all about it.…”

 

 

 

The youngest member of the home defence brigade of the Woodland Realm, who just happened to be the son of the king of said realm, yawned cavernously. He shifted position slightly so that his back could rest more firmly against the trunk of the great beech tree he was sitting in before sighing heavily and looking again at the sky to ascertain how much longer his ‘guard’ duty would last.

He knew he should be grateful that the captain had allowed him to join his troop. He knew he was fortunate to be allocated a duty of his own. He knew that although he had been allocated this position because it was one of the quietest roads into the home wood of his Adar’s realm, it still allowed him some sense of independence, but oh, he was bored!

 

He had sat in this tree on duty for three days now and not a single visitor had attempted to cross the river and enter the wood. Other members of the patrol were nearby if they were needed, he knew, but given the inactivity of the last few days that did not seem likely to be necessary, he almost wished it were.

 

What made his situation worse was at the end of this spell of duty he was scheduled to return home. A scowl now disfigured the fair face as he thought of the reasons for that return. He was sure the other members of his patrol, all of them warriors with many millennia of service to the Woodland Realm found the fact that he still had to attend lessons highly amusing although none of them ever commented on it to him. They did however always ensure he was packed off home in plenty of time so that he never had the excuse of being late.

His captain also took an interest in the topics he was currently studying and often spent time quizzing his youngest recruit on his lessons, sometimes, especially on days like this one Legolas thought he might just as well have remained in the palace.

 

The depth of his sigh actually stirred the leaves around him and he was about to crack another enormous yawn when his sharp eyes caught the sign of movement across the river. He put his hands to his lips to make the call sign and then lowered them again as a shambling figure came into sight.

 

A human, wrapped in the most disreputable cloak it had ever been the prince’s misfortune to see was about to enter the river and wade across. He was using a staff to help him walk and as he lifted his robes to enter the water a pair of thin bowed legs could just be espied. Even from where he sat Legolas’s sensitive nose picked up the smell of pipe weed and accumulated grime.

 

A gleam came to his bright blue eyes that would have forewarned his father or tutor that he was about to do something foolish, unfortunately neither of these two worthy individuals were present to put a stop to the upcoming disaster before it came into being.

 

The prince once again lifted his hands to his lips, paused, and calculated how far the human had got in his slow journey across the stream then let out a long loud whistle that ricocheted off the wood and echoed around the river.

Obviously startled by the sudden piercing sound the human looked up lost his footing and sat down in the water with a resounding splash. The hood of his cape fell back revealing a shock of grey hair and a beard.

Legolas who had had to clamp one hand over his mouth to prevent his giggles being heard and his position being revealed found he had lost all desire to laugh as he recognised his victim.

 

Deciding that flight was sensible, the prince turned only to be stopped in his tracks by the booming voice, “Is this how the guardian’s of the wood welcome visitors these days? Come down from that tree at once.”

 

Knowing he was caught Legolas groaned and turned around, by the time he had lowered himself to the ground a very wet and irritable Istari had made it to the bank and was wringing out his clothing, muttering all the while about elven sentries who had no more sense than a dwarfling. The diatribe stopped dead however as Gandalf saw who his watery assailant was. “You?” His eyebrows rose and his brow lowered as he came face to face with the current crown prince of the House of Oropher.

 

“I am very sorry Mithrandir,” Legolas quavered, under the fiery gaze of the wizard. “I did not know it was you. Had I recognised you I would never …. I mean I am truly sorry, here.” He offered his blanket as a towel that the wizard snatched from his hand.

 

As he dried off his dripping beard, Gandalf continued to glare at the elf before him. His voice throbbed with fury as he spat “Am I to understand from that speech son of Thranduil that other unfortunates have suffered the same fate at your hands as I have?”

 

“N … no,” Legolas’ knees were knocking as he faced the incensed Istari “I did not mean, it was just that I was bored and, and you do not usually wear a cloak like that.” He flinched at the gleam his attempt at an explanation had brought to the wizard’s dark eyes. “I …I  will build a fire to help you warm up.”

 

“I know a better way of doing that,” Gandalf growled, snagging the prince’s arm before he could get out of reach and hauling him over to a fallen log.

 

Knowing what was about to happen Legolas attempted to remonstrate with his captor, “Mithrandir, please I said I was sorry, you can not mean to … you would not … I am a warrior now … please!”

 

This last turned into a wail as Legolas found himself spread-eagled over the Istari’s damp lap, his leggings unceremoniously ripped down, as the wizard began belabouring his exposed rear with an enthusiasm that left the prince with little spare breath to protest.

 

“Bored were you young prince,” he snarled “well let us see if I can set about ensuring that your boredom does not tempt you to do such a foolish trick in future shall we …”

Raising his hand higher the Istari brought it down with a strength that soon had the prince kicking and squirming while his bottom moved from the faintest shade of shell pink to crimson in a very short space of time.

 

“Ow, ouch, please, ow, Mithrandir please, Ouch!”

 

However, no amount of pleading had any effect until the Wizard himself decided that he had taught the wailing princeling a lesson he would not soon forget. As Legolas was allowed to scramble to his feet he realised to his utter horror that his chastisement had been witnessed by the other members of his patrol who had responded to his whistle and come running.

They were all now grinning at him as he tugged his leggings back over his very sore backside.

 

“Welcome Mithrandir,” the most senior of the warriors bowed at the Istari. “Is there anything we can help you with?”

 

“I thank you Elian, but I believe I have made my point have I not, elfling?”

 

Caught out rubbing his smarting rump Legolas coloured up under the renewed scrutiny of his patrol and mumbled “Yes, Sir!”

 

“Then may we escort you back to our main camp, I am sure our captain will wish to hear of your welcome for himself. Legolas, you may make yourself useful and carry Mithrandir’s pack. No doubt Captain Ilithin will wish to speak with you about your welcoming techniques as well”

 

In the event, it was apparent that the Captain had a great deal to say to his youngest troop member. By the time he had finished with him, Legolas was not sure which was worse a sore rear or a sore ear. What was obvious to him however as he was given despatches to carry to his father was that he was going to be in even more trouble once he reached home.

 

Moreover all he had to look forward to on his return to the patrol, if he did return his captain had reiterated, was a month of cleaning duties and latrine digging. It would the captain told him teach him the difference between his thoughts on boring and the real thing.

 

The journey back to the stronghold was conducted in silence as far as Legolas was concerned. He was left to trail disconsolately behind the Istari and his assigned guard. His rear already throbbing from Mithrandir’s chastisement rapidly became even sorer as he made his way homeward.

It was almost a relief to see the great gates of his father’s halls ahead of him.

 

As they entered the great hall, the king’s chatelaine bustled forward to greet them and to ensure that they both shed their outdoor boots before venturing any further into her domain.

 

“I am afraid the king is in council presently, Mithrandir, if your visit is urgent I could interrupt him…”

 

“No need,” The wizard informed her, “I am in no hurry, what I would appreciate is a hot bath and a change of clothes if they were to be available to me”

 

“Indeed,” Lady Chiatin was already ushering the Istari towards the staircase that would lead him to the guest chambers. “You would not doubt wish to avail yourself of a bath as well, Legolas” she told the prince.

 

Even had he not wished it Legolas knew better than to say so, the chatelaine held a unique place in the king’s halls and no one willingly chose to cross her for when roused she was formidable.

As anyone making the mistake of crossing her floor in dirty boots could swiftly attest to, “I have despatches for the Home Guard Captain,” He handed them over to Lady Chi. Who eyed the remaining letter in his hand suspiciously, “I have to give this one to Adar personally,” he admitted.

 

Taking in his sheepish expression, she shook her head at him, “Are you in trouble again?” He found the toes of his indoor boots suddenly very interesting. “Oh Legolas …whatever are we going to do with you?” she worried as she herded her guest up the stairway leaving the prince to follow with Mithrandir’s pack.

 

By the time the king’s seneschal, Lord Selinde came to escort him to dinner; Gandalf was feeling much more like his usual self. The warm welcome he had received, a hot bath, and clean clothes having gone a long way to soothing his frayed nerves and he was looking forward to his dinner.

 

Thranduil always kept a good table and even better wines and tonight he trusted would be no exception.

He was pleasantly surprised to find the meal was to be a family only affair. Already gathered in the private drawing room were the king, and his chatelaine the Lady Chiatin.

 

“Mithrandir, welcome, are you fully recovered?” Thranduil drew him to the fire and handed him a goblet of wine.

 

The Istari sank into the chair provided and pushed his toes towards the flames, “I am.” He looked around the room and then asked, “Have you seen your son since he got home?”

 

“Not yet, I assume from what Lady Chi has told me that he has been in some sort of trouble.” Thranduil answered obviously angling for information.

 

“Aye, but I shall let him tell you about it for himself” Gandalf responded as the door opened again and the prince slid into the room holding out the letter from his captain.

 

Thranduil looked up from where he had been perusing the parchment in his hand, “I do not have to ask if this is true I presume?”

 

“No Adar,”

 

“You understand the gravity of what you have done?” Legolas bit his lip and nodded, “you have not only insulted and injured one of this realm’s oldest and truest friends but you have embarrassed your patrol and your guard company.”

 

“I am very sorry Adar. Truly I am. I did not think.”

 

“Captain Ilithin informs me that both he and Mithrandir have already made it plain to you their views on your foolishness. However, he does not specify in what manner they made this clear. You may do so in their stead.” His eyes bored into the top of his son’s bowed head. “I am waiting …”

 

Swallowing hard Legolas stammered, “C … Captain Ilithin, has assigned me to a month of cleaning and latrine duty, when I am returned to his patrol,” he answered not daring to look at his father, “a … and … and Mithrandir, he, well, he turned me over his knee and he … well he … he … sp … spa … spanked me.” He finally got the word out his face and ears bright red with embarrassment.

 

“Did he so?” Thranduil turned an approving smile on his guest, “I trust you made sure my son was fully aware of your disapproval, Mithrandir?”

 

The wizard grinned in return, “I believe so.”

“Good, I would like to see that is the case for myself however, turn around Legolas, and lower your leggings so I may properly inspect Mithrandir’s efforts.”

Legolas turned an even deeper shade of red but knew he had no choice but to obey his father.

When his leggings were down to his knees he bent forward holding up his tunic as his father scrutinized the wizard’s handiwork.

 

Thranduil took his time inspecting the damage done, before commenting “Well even allowing for some healing time you seem to have taught my son an exemplary lesson, I will however add my own opinion of his behaviour to yours shortly. Until that time, he may usefully spend some time thinking on his conduct, Legolas.  Corner, now.” This order was accompanied by a swat to his rump, which sent the prince all, but to his knees recovering, he shuffled over to the corner of the room, not daring to pull up his leggings without permission.

 

“Thranduil,” Lady Chi watched the elf that was as close as a son was to her, lean his head into the corner, his shoulders shuddering as silent tears of shame made their way down his cheeks unchecked. “Let the boy re-clothe himself, for my sake if not for his, the maids will be in here shortly to serve dinner.”

Her face if not her voice warned the king that she did not approve of his public humiliation of his son in this fashion.

 

Thranduil noted her disapproval, “You are ever too soft with the boy but if it will make you happy, Legolas you may redress yourself, and then place your hands on your head.”

 

“Th … th … thank you Adar,” the prince whispered hurrying to conform.

 

While the rest of the family and their guest sat down to dinner Legolas continued to stand in his corner, his face burning as the servants came and went with many a glance in his direction.

 

Just as it seemed the meal would never end Thranduil rose to his feet and excusing himself from his family and guest snapped his fingers at his son and ordered his attendance in the study.

 

Legolas dared only one glance in his father’s direction before lowering his eyes to the rug at his feet.

“Look at me Thranduilion”

 

His head came up automatically and he flinched at the expression on his parent’s face.

 

“I have brought you here in an attempt to impress upon you the seriousness of what you have done this day. I spoke earlier of the insult and injury you had done to a good friend of our realm and of the embarrassment, your behaviour brought to your patrol. Mithrandir has since asked that you not be punished twice for that offence and I have reluctantly agreed to his wishes. Your patrol captain has also issued suitable disciplinary measures, which will come into force if you return. You will note I use the word ‘if’, for I am by no means minded to allow you to continue with your training.” The king noted with approval the shock this threat engendered in his son. “You have proved by your conduct this day that you are too young and lacking in sufficient discipline to benefit from such training.”

Legolas opened his mouth and then closed it again acknowledging his father was right.

 

“Did you wish to say something in your defence?”

 

“N … no Adar” Legolas could not think of a single excuse to make his behaviour less reprehensible.

 

“That is well, we will now move on to my feelings over your conduct. I am ashamed, ashamed that you my son, the heir to this realm should behave in such a thoughtless foolish fashion. I cannot change what has happened; I can however ensure it does not occur again and intend to do so.

For the foreseeable future, you will confine yourself to your studies in the schoolroom. While Mithrandir remains as our guest time that is not taken up by lessons will be spent taking on any tasks he may assign you without complaint. If he does not need your presence, you will return to your chamber and remain there until summoned.

You will not leave the palace grounds without my prior permission and there will be no weapons practice of any kind. Do I make myself quite plain?”

 

Legolas retained just sufficient presence of mind to nod, “Yes Adar”

 

“Very well we come now to the consequences your foolhardy actions have inevitably brought you. When you were awarded your braids, I was aware you were young but I hoped you would continue to carry the promise and dedication I saw initially, into the training needed to take on full warrior status. Today you have proved to me I was mistaken in my belief; you have shown yourself unready for the recognition I granted you. As of today, therefore I am revoking your right to wear warrior braids. You will not wear them again until you have proved to me that you are serious in your desire to undertake your training as a son of this house should…”

 

His world spun off its axis at this sentence and willpower alone kept Legolas on his feet he was vaguely aware his father was still speaking but the words did not register, all he could think was that he was to lose his braids. The symbol of his burgeoning adulthood the acknowledgement of his willingness to fight for his home everything he had always wanted since he was the tiniest of elflings was to be ripped from him.

It took every shred of control to keep from falling to his knees and begging for a second chance to prove himself it was clear that his father would not be swayed from his decision.

Faintly as if from a long distance, he heard his Adar tell him he had shamed himself and his name that he would needs work hard to recover some self-respect and to regain the trust of those who cared for him. However, this small sign of hope for forgiveness hardly registered with him at all as far as he was concerned his world had ended with his father’s decree.

When ordered to do so he took up position across the desk in silence folding his arms and laying his head down on them as his father tugged down his leggings.

Closing his eyes he tensed automatically and bit down hard on his lip as the first blow landed and he realised his father was using the paddle on him.

The punishment seemed interminable; the pain blossomed and grew in his backside as with each stroke his whole torso was jolted forward from the force of the swats. Yet Legolas did not cry out or flinch he could not for he was numb.

When told to rise he did so and stood silently doing his best to still the trembling in his limbs as Thranduil began to unravel his braids.

Then he was dismissed and found himself outside his father’s study and the true enormity of what had just happened hit him full force. With a hastily bitten off sob he threw himself up the staircase and into his chamber closing and locking the door behind him then he sank face down onto the bed and sobbed himself into an uneasy nightmare filled sleep.

 

Legolas was never sure how he lived through the next day.

He remembered waking sore and stiff from his paddling, feeling the utter misery of catching his reflection in the mirror with his hair in the despised child’s topknot once more. Then presenting himself for first meal, and seeing the shocked reaction of his family to his disgrace.

The small hope he had harboured that perhaps Thranduil may have softened in his attitude towards his heir overnight was swiftly stilled. His quiet greeting to his sire was met with little more than a curt nod the king seeming as if he found even looking at him painful.

The food that Chi insisted on placing on his plate turned to ashes in Legolas’ mouth and had one of the serving staff not taken pity on him and removed it Legolas might have further disgraced himself by bringing back up the small amount of food he had forced down in hope of appeasing his anxious honorary aunt.

 

From then on, his day became one of wretchedness and despair.

He moved through the morning in a stupor, going where he was bid, doing as he was told, without showing any outward sign of the emotional turmoil he was feeling. He dared not respond to the many little kindnesses that were shown him by Chi, Sellie, and many of the household staff, his control was fragile, and he knew if he accepted any comfort he would shatter.

 

He avoided going to noon meal afraid of seeing the shame in his father’s eyes when he looked in his direction and his stomach was so knotted and twisted that he knew he could not face food.

 

Then he sat dazedly through his lessons during the afternoon responding as required but having no idea what was being taught, eventually Sellie could stand to see his charge suffer no longer and released him telling him to find Mithrandir to see if he had anything he wished done.

 

An inquiry of one of the guards told the prince that Mithrandir had last been seen heading outside.

 

The peace of the garden called the hurting prince and he stood silently under the shade of a large oak for awhile, his head bowed, the tree sensing his distress offered its calming song to him and it was then that his tears came and would not be stopped.

 

Gandalf wandered the pathways of the Queens garden deep in thought; he had spent the morning being accosted by household staff, councillors and guards all wanting him to intercede with the king on behalf of their prince.

He had witnessed the distress of both father and son for himself this morning and knew it could not long continue without both being permanently damaged by their estrangement. He bitterly regretted his own part in that rift and wished more than anything that he had never decided to visit the northern kingdom at this time.

From somewhere ahead of him he heard the sound of weeping. His sharp eyes picked out a form huddled beside the bole of a large oak tree. He could feel the despair and misery emanating from the slight figure and would later describe the experience of seeing the elven prince slumped against the oak tree as one of the most heartbreaking moments of his very long life.

 

Enough was enough, he decided, leaving the prince to his private grief the ancient Istari went in search of the king.

 

He found Thranduil in his study his desk covered with scrolls and parchments giving the impression that the king was busy but as Mithrandir watched unseen from the entrance, he saw the same despair on the elven king’s timeless face as he had seen on his sons. “May I speak to you for a moment Thranduil?”

 

The king looked up, saw who had hailed him and sighed, “Have you come to berate me as well?”

 

The Istari’s eyebrows rose, “Berate you? Indeed not, I would like your company for a short while if you could spare me the time. There is something I wish you to see.”

 

Thranduil looked down at his desk and grimaced, “Since it seems I cannot concentrate on my work I am at your disposal. Shall we go out through the garden doors; it will save me being subjected to the glares of my guards.”

 

The wizard chuckled softly his expression clearly asking a question even while he kept quiet.

 

Thranduil apparently had no difficulty in understanding what the question would have been if it had been voiced, “It seems every member of my household, from my seneschal and chatelaine downwards disapproves of the way I have disciplined my son.”

Although he was giving a fair impression of being angry about such intrusions into a private family matter, Thranduil was in fact relieved that so many elves cared sufficiently to risk his wrath to plead for his son.

He never liked being at odds with his only child and although he felt he had been right to deal with Legolas severely he now wished he had not taken the extreme step of removing his warrior braids.

He had seen for himself the devastating effect it had had on his heir at first meal and it had taken all of his resolve not to rescind his decree immediately when he had glimpsed the shattered look in Legolas’ eyes as he entered the dining hall.

Still he had told himself then that his son had to learn that the heir to the throne had to behave in a manner that was above reproach and that ‘being bored’ was not an excuse for foolish behaviour.

Now after a day of listening to pleas and reproaches and having searched his own heart he wanted nothing more than an excuse to forgive his golden child.

 

Seeing all of this the wizard, chose not to comment merely linking his arm through the monarchs and leading him out into the garden.

 

The sound of a young one sobbing his heart out echoed in the silence and the expression on Thranduil’s face as he hastened towards the noise told the wizard he had been right to bring the king to his son.

 

Legolas was where the Istari had last seen him, huddled at the base of the oak tree, his arms wrapped around his slim form as if to offer himself some much-needed comfort.

“Ai, nin-ion,” Thranduil whispered, “what have I done to you?”

 

As if he had heard the question, Legolas chose that moment to look upwards.

 

The wizard’s heart twisted as Legolas turned towards his father his eyes awash with tears. Eyes that were such an impossible blue that it was like looking at bluebells drenched in morning dew to see them he thought.

The young elf’s face flooded with colour at having been caught crying, struggling to his feet and wiping his eyes on his tunic sleeve he stammered, “I beg your pardon Adar; I did not hear you approach. Please forgive me for this lapse in proper decorum.”

The prince was fighting hard to gain control over his emotions before continuing, but still there was the traitorous flutter in his voice as he assured his father. “I promise you I will try harder to conduct myself as you would wish and not disgrace you further by such displays of self pity but I stand ready to accept any punishment you think fit for this additional shame I have brought you.”

 

 

Gandalf saw how Thranduil winced at the quaver in Legolas’ voice and flinched at the way his son’s hand strayed to where his braids should have been, only to be pulled away again sharply and tucked behind his back.  Then the princeling straightened his shoulders and even tried for a small reassuring smile all the while struggling with a trembling bottom lip.

 

“Nin-ion” Thranduil’s own voice was none too steady, “come to me” he opened his arms and after a moments hesitation Legolas leapt forward and was swiftly wrapped in his father’s embrace, satisfied, Mithrandir slipped away to let the anxious household know that all would soon be well.

 

“The poor lad,” Gimli’s soft heart wept at the situation his charge had found himself in, “How he must have suffered. Not that I blame the king, he was right to take him to task over his behaviour. The heir to the throne of the Greenwood needed to learn to be above such a lack of consideration for others, and learn he obviously did since he would now sooner cut off his right hand than treat a stranger in such a manner.”

His hand went out to the golden head and he ran it down through the freed locks, caressing the loosened braids.

 

“Well I still don’t agree with what his father did to him,” Pippin, declared feeling affronted all over again for the elven prince.

 

Gimli reached across and patted his small companion’s shoulder comfortingly. “It may seem harsh to us lad, but if I read Thranduil’s motives aright he was trying to get his son to see that it is wrong to take anything for granted, whether it be his braids or his status as the son of a king and that along with rights come responsibilities.

Better a sore bottom and a little bruised pride than to go on thinking only of what his braids gave him rather than what they required of him in return.”

 

The Hobbit was about to argue this further when a sleepy voice interrupted them, “I do not like to say this but Gimli is right, Pippin. I was in need of learning that particular lesson” he gave the pair watching him a small rueful smile, “although I by no means approved of the way it was taught. I still do not enjoy it.”  He added frowning at the dwarf who merely raised an eyebrow in return and gazed at him steadily.

 

It was the elf who looked away first, “I suppose you will wish to discuss how I come to be injured again?”

 

“You can count on it youngling,” the dwarf rumbled “as soon as Aragorn gives you the all clear we will be ‘talking’ at some length and in some depth over your apparent lack of sense of your own possible mortality.”

 

Legolas squirmed at the emphasis his friend had placed on the word ‘talk’. He knew very well how that talk would be administered and how little actual talking he was likely to be doing, yelping, pleading and howling yes, talking no. “I am sorry …”

 

“Aye, I know lad, now settle down, and get some more rest.”

 

The dwarf watched in amusement as his charge did just that his eyes drooping as healing sleep called him once more, “At least I do not have to worry about losing my braids this time.” Legolas managed around a prodigious yawn.

 

Gimli and Pippin exchanged looks and Legolas frowned, around another yawn … “What?”

 

“It’s not so bad” the Halfling put in, “It’s only for a short while …”

 

The blue eyes opened fully, “what do you mean it’s not so bad? I … Gimli?”

 

“Nothing at all for you to worry over, you go to sleep laddie,” the dwarf placated.

 

Legolas fought to keep his eyes from closing, “y … you promise?”

 

“Aye, I promise, sleep now.”

 

No longer able to resist the pull of much needed rest the elf allowed himself to drift away the frown that Pippin’s words had engendered easing as sleep overtook him.

 

“But Gimli” the Hobbit protested

 

“Hush lad, what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, when he wakes his precious braids will be back in place and he will be none the wiser.”

 

Waiting only long enough to assure himself that Legolas was indeed asleep Gimli moved to sit on the side of the bed and began braiding the elf’s hair with a dexterity born of long practice of his own beard.

As he finished he looked down at his friend and a warm smile covered his face only to be replaced by surprise as a slim hand grasped his wrist and a voice whispered, “thank you, Elvellon”

 

While many leagues to the north the king of Eryn Lasgalen picked up a small portrait of his son painted not long after he had been awarded his warrior braids for the second time and smiled contentedly knowing through the bond he shared with his son that the lesson from all those years ago had not been forgotten.

 

 

 

The End

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> More stories like this are available at   
> http://groups.yahoo.com/group/TheLeaflingChronicles/


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